


sugar, butter, flour

by mel_lifluously



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Evan is an awkward bi sweetheart who just wants to support his friend, Gen, Let Evan and Zoe Have A Healthy and Genuine Relationship 2k17, Male-Female Friendship, Zoe is questioning and frustrated with her not-so-great family, accidentally coming out, because I still love these two with my whole heart, kind of a follow-up to my previous fic, listen to Waitress if you haven't- it's great :), they bake cookies and talk things out, title is a Waitress reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 04:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12161118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mel_lifluously/pseuds/mel_lifluously
Summary: It’s a Saturday morning in the gray, early days of December when the realization finally hits Evan- for the first time in five years, he’s having a friend over.or: Families are frustrating, friends are supportive, and heartfelt conversations go great with cookie dough.





	sugar, butter, flour

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! It's been a while since I last posted- school and band have been keeping me very busy- but I've definitely still been writing! This little fic isn't much, and it includes a great deal of projecting on my part, but I'm still pretty happy with it. I just want these two to have a supportive friendship, is that too much to ask?  
> Anyway, I won't ramble on much longer. Kudos and comments always make my day, so feel free to leave one if you enjoyed! :)

It’s a Saturday morning in the gray, early days of December when the realization finally hits Evan- for the first time in five years, he’s having a friend over. He stares down at the cookie dough he’s been halfheartedly stirring as the familiar anxious fluttering builds to a fever pitch in his chest. _Five years._ Five years, _Evan. That’s like, what, a third of your life? You’ve wasted more than_ a third of your life _being an anxious trainwreck and you’ve only managed to get one friend since then and the one you had originally_  doesn’t even like you _and just sticks with you because he_ has to _and the one you have now-_

“Hey, Evan? I think the oven’s done preheating.” Evan startles, nearly dropping the mixing bowl as the voice jerks him out of his latest thought spiral. Zoe Murphy is leaning against the door frame leading to the kitchen, tugging idly at the sleeves of her flour-dusted sweater. She shoots him an apologetic smile as he steadies himself.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.”

Evan waves his free hand in an attempt at nonchalance (even as his heart thunders in his ears). “Don't worry about it.” _Why would you say that? You hate it when people say that to you but here you are saying it and now she’s going to think you’re just an annoying hypocrite because she_ knows _how much you hate it when people say that to you and- “_ I-I mean, you can worry about it if you- if you have to, I know it’s hard to just, like, _not worry_ about stuff, but it’s fine. I swear. It’s fine.”

Zoe’s smile has slipped a little, and she looks at him with that thinly-veiled concern she always does when he’s especially anxious, but she nods all the same. “I really appreciate you letting me stop over here for a while,” she says, taking up the whisk he’d dropped and giving the dough a few gentle stirs. “Things have been kind of… tense at home.”

“I really don’t mind- I like having you here.  Is, uh, is everything okay with C-  with your family, though?” Evan bites his lip, cursing himself. He’d almost said _with Connor_ , and from the way her smile melts away, she definitely heard him.

“I-I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I said that, I shouldn’t have said anything-”

“It’s fine, Evan,” she says, winding a curl around her finger, her eyes downcast. “Do you mind if I just vent to you about it for a bit? I understand if you don’t feel comfortable responding, but I would really appreciate just having someone listen.”

Evan just nods, not trusting himself to say the right thing. For a few moments, the kitchen is quiet, the two of them dropping spoonfuls of dough onto the cookie sheet in silence. When Zoe speaks again, her voice is strained, trembling faintly with anger. “It’s not Connor this time. He hasn’t been home often enough to screw with me. It’s my dad. With my brother being gone all the time, he turns to _me_ to criticize, and Mom’s right there with him. They’re just so _pushy,_ and they judge me for everything, and it seems like I can’t do anything right- even when it comes to you.”

She takes a deep breath and forges on: “ I know you’re going to take this the wrong way, and I really, _really_ don’t mean for you to, but they- _they_ _want us to go out_. Like. Date. Because they think you’ll ‘be good for me.’ And Evan, I promise you’ve been nothing but awesome, so don’t think for one second that this is your fault, but I just don't feel like we like each other that way."

Evan nods stiffly again in lieu of a reply. (The words would have hurt, more than he’d like to admit, but his old crush had all but fizzled out by the end of the summer. Evan’s been perfectly happy with letting that blush-y stutter-y awkwardness go and just being friends.)

“The _worst_ part of it, though, is that I’ve told them and told them over and over and they _still_ don’t even _consider_  the fact that maybe- maybe I don’t want to end up with a guy at all!” The words leave her in a rush and hang heavy in the air. In the beat of silence that follows, she drops the sticky spoon with a clatter and buries her reddening face in her hands. “Why did I tell you that? I shouldn’t have told you that, you didn’t need to know that, I-”

“Hey,” Evan says, carefully keeping his voice gentle and soft. “It’s okay. Just- just try and breathe, alright? Just breathe.  I know it sounds dumb, and it doesn’t seem like it’ll help, but it does, I swear it does. And, um, if it makes you feel any better?” Evan takes a deep breath of his own, squaring his shoulders and bracing himself. “ _I’mnoteither._ Straight, that is.”

“...you’re not?” Zoe slowly uncovers her face, peeking up at him through the curtain of her bangs. He smiles sheepishly and nods.

“I think I’m bi. Bisexual. I-is that the right word? I don’t know. It- it sounds right? So I think it is?  But, um, yeah! I like guys. And girls. Equally- well, maybe not equally, but in the same way. And- and that’s nothing to be ashamed of! So you don’t have to stress over it.  Not that I think you think _you_ think you need to stress over it, that’s not what I’m saying, I’m saying you shouldn’t b-because you don’t deserve to. What you _do_ deserve is someone nice- and you’re gonna find them. Or him. Or her. Or whatever other pronoun that person ends up using. I don't mean to assume your, um, preferences.”

_You don't mean to ‘assume her preferences.’ What a stunning way with words you have today._

"My preferences?" She laughs softly. "Well, I'm not exactly sure about them either, but I think whoever I like will probably be using feminine pronouns."

"Really? That's- that's cool. I mean, not cool, cool's probably not the right word for it, but, um- I support you?" Evan's voice is shaking more than a little as he says this, but the smile he receives- beaming and bright and wide enough to crinkle her teary eyes- makes it worth it. She throws her arms around him, forceful enough to almost knock him over.

"Thank you," she says, over and over, holding him close in that warm, gentle way only she knows how. "Thank you, thank you, thank you so much, Evan. You're the best."

Evan's heart soars, and he can't help but close his eyes and beam. _You're the best. She thinks you're the best._

_No one's ever said that to you before._

"You're welcome," he manages, voice suddenly thick and unsteady. He steps back when he feels her arms loosen around him, that ever-present voice urging him to _let go let go you're making this awkward_ , but his smile is still full-force. "So, um, if you don't mind me asking- is there anyone in particular?"

She blushes vibrantly, twirling a curl around her finger. "You don't want to hear about that."

"Would I be asking if I didn't?" _She doesn't want to tell you, idiot, that's why she's saying that and now you're pushing her and you_  hate _it when people are pushy_ _so you're just being a hypocrite_ again  _oh God_ _why are you like this?_ "I mean you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, I don't want to pressure you or anything, I know your parents have been doing that and it stresses you out and now _I'm_ doing it and that probably isn't helping-" Evan cuts himself off, takes a deep breath. "But I really do want to know, if you feel okay with it."

"Well," she begins hesitantly, "there is this one girl. From band. She's the first chair trumpet, and she's passionate and beautiful and _so_ talented and I just- I don't know. She's amazing."

"Well, so are you. I-I mean in an entirely platonic, supportive way, of course. I'm not, like, coming on to you or anything. That would be weird. I, um, I really think you should talk to her, though. 'Cause you never can tell, you know? People- people who seem like they're _worlds_ out of your league are just as nervous and awkward and _human_ as you are. I should know. And besides-" he picks up the long-forgotten tray of cookie dough- "you have these, right? They're what I used to make friends, and honestly, I think that turned out pretty well." He smiles, small and tentative, and she beams back.

"I think so too."

 


End file.
